


Scattered Pieces

by philippcarlyle



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, Emotions, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, phil cries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 04:35:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philippcarlyle/pseuds/philippcarlyle
Summary: "Philip takes the newspaper and slams it upside down on the tabletop. He can’t look at that exhilarated smile right now[...]"





	Scattered Pieces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gay_jeans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_jeans/gifts).



> Welcome, dear readers! I got some honourable mentions to start with:
> 
> This was a tumblr prompt: “Mmm keep doing that. Feels nice.”
> 
> It is beta'ed by my booty buddy @SilverLynxx ;)
> 
> And the title is from "Pieces" by Red - thank you so much for showing me this song, Freaky <3  
> (I recommend listening to this while reading, because FEELS)

Silver light illuminates the dust particles dancing around the room. Philip blows some air upwards and watches the dust disperse like snowflakes. But it isn’t winter, it isn’t cold. Philip shivers.

He closes his eyes, but still sees the light through his eyelids; it makes his skin feel cold as it washes over him. He hasn’t slept well the past few days, and his mental exhaustion is finally taking over his body. He relaxes and lets his head fall back.

“Mmm keep doing that,” he hums when lazy fingers thread through his hair; “Feels nice.”

Philip wants to stay like this forever. His hands drop to his sides, and his feet rest on the arm of the sofa. No circus noise, no angry protestors, no bigoted parents disturb them here – at home.

“Should do that more often, Phin...” Philip murmurs, already half asleep.

The hand weaving through his hair stops its calming motion. Philip opens bleary eyes and sees the dust in front of the large window again.

“I’m sorry, Philip. He- he isn’t here,” a gentle voice reminds him. It sounds all wrong, and Philip quickly determines why: it’s feminine.

He sighs, more awake now. One hand reaches above his head and he links his fingers with Anne’s. She silently rubs his hand with her thumb, and continues to pet his hair with her other hand.

“I can’t believe I forgot,” he murmurs. This is what kept him awake, after all; sleepless nights alone, no grinning showman to meet at the circus, to stop from pursuing reckless plans – just emptiness.

“It’s okay. You miss him,” Anne says, and Philip slowly nods.

“Why did he have to go? Is the circus not enough for him? Aren’t we his family? Am– am I...maybe no–“

“No, stop that, Phil. He gave all of us a home and–” Anne stops herself. Did she really want to defend Barnum’s actions? She continues, less defensive: “And I want to believe he’ll come back to us. To you.”

Philip shakes his head; he wants to clear his mind. He is a rational person, he should think like one too. Anne puts her hands in her lap and tangles them in the huge scarf she has wrapped around her upper body. They sit next to each other without a single word spoken. Philip’s gaze diverts from the dust and lands on the coffee table. A newspaper lies on top of some documents – a huge photo of the showman and Jenny Lind smiling happily for the cameras is displayed on the front page.

_Swedish Nightingale steals the nation’s heart – P.T. Barnum finally respectable?_

Philip takes the newspaper and slams it upside down on the tabletop. He can’t look at that exhilarated smile right now. About a week ago – who was he kidding, Philip knew it had been exactly nine days so far – that smile had been addressed to him, making him laugh in return. It had been followed by a bone-crushing hug, and ended in Phineas lifting Philip off his feet and happily telling him the ‘great news’.

Philip had never felt so let down than when Phineas literally placed him back on the ground to say those words. They still echo in his mind, making his vision go blurry and his hands shake.

“We’re going on tour! Jenny and I, oh it’s going to be _amazing_!”

He buries his face in his hands, blocks out all silvery light. All silver linings.

“Hey, Philip...” Anne puts a comforting hand on Philip’s shoulder. He knows she just wants to help, _he knows it,_ but he brushes her off and gets up regardless. His eyes sting and his heart races.

“Have you seen the articles? There were three – _three_ – in the last few days alone! Can you imagine what an ego boost that is to him? He’ll never come back.”

“I have seen them,” Anne replies. Although her voice is steady, Philip recognizes the pain behind it. It’s nearly the same he feels – fear of abandonment, among many other emotions.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to burden you with my worries.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s good that you talk about it.”

“I should just get over it. There’s nothing I can do right now, is there? Either he comes back or he doesn’t. Either he remembers me _– us_ , or he stays with Ms Lind...” His voice trails off and he has to close his eyes. Saying those words, even after thinking them this whole time, pains him. He picks at the crisp sleeve of his shirt; _I’m Phineas_ ’ the piece of clothing seems to yell at him.

When Philip got up that morning, he hadn’t paid attention to his choice of clothing. He’d felt okay for a while – a bit nostalgic, but that was normal with the ringmaster gone. He’d also felt a bit more comfortable – that was not normal. He realises now it was because of the faint scent and loose fit of the shirt. He wants to tear it off his skin.

“I want him to come back too, Philip. But you’re right, we can’t do anything about it for now. Please don’t blame yourself,” Anne pleads, getting up as well.

“I’m not blaming-“ Philip sighs and pulls at his hair. He meets Anne’s gaze and sad smile.

“I’ll try. Thank you for coming over and just – being here for me.”

“Of course,” she says and wraps the shawl tighter around her shoulders, “I’m going home now.”

Philip nods and goes with her to see her out, watches her leave, shares a parting smile with her. As soon as the door is closed and he is on his own, he collapses.

With his back against the sofa he stares into nothing. The dust is invisible again, no silver light left to let it shine and dance. Philip probably wouldn’t have noticed it anyway.

Finally, after nine dull days and eight nearly sleepless nights, he grants himself a second to feel. Tears drip off his lashes, falling down to form tiny hot droplets on his hands.

Philip draws in a deep breath that has his whole body shuddering, and vigorously wipes away the tears that just keep coming, burning paths across his skin and soul.

“I hope you’re happy, you look like it.”

Exhausted, Philip gets up and braces his arms on the sofa’s backrest. He is not weak. He is not alone. He has a new family that loves him. But what are friends when your heart is missing? The black and white portrayal of one Phineas Taylor Barnum laughs at him when he picks up the paper one last time. The sight causes new tears to well up and he drops it, sighing in resignation.

Philip dries his tears on his sleeve and leaves the room. He pulls off the cursed shirt, throws it aside, and instead fetches a simple warm blanket to wrap around himself.

He doesn’t let his gaze wander over the bedroom – he won’t be able to sleep in the bed anyways. Wrapped up and as physically comfortable as possible, Philip steps out of the head-high window into the garden and the cool evening air.

“But I want to be happy too.”

He sits down against the wall of the house and watches the moon rise higher. He could wait, until their paths met again – from one side of the moon to the other, but would Phineas?


End file.
